


On my own terms

by PanicAtTheEverywhere (DapperMuffin)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Deceit is Damien, Depressed Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Depression, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Genderfluid Morality | Patton Sanders, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Let Patton Swear 2K19, Overdosing, Present Tense, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Trans Male Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Two Endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-16 17:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18695635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperMuffin/pseuds/PanicAtTheEverywhere
Summary: Virgil's hated himself for a while now. It's always been that way, and he knows it'll stay that way unless he does something about it. And the only permanent solution is something drastic.





	1. What's the point if it'll all disappear someday

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a hard time writing and I know I'm not updating my multichapter fics but I just can't write lately. This is the best I can do this week.
> 
> Trigger warning are in the tags, so please be careful, kiddos

Virgil collapses onto his bed, pulling his earbuds from his pocket and pushing them in his ears. He sighs as the familiar sound of P!ATD begins to play in his ears, slumping down further on the bed. His therapist had said it wasn't good to dwell for too long on the negative things, but a part of him enjoys wallowing in his pain.

 

It isn't the first time he's done this, and it won't be the last. The longer his music plays, the further underneath the turbulent waves of his feelings he sinks, and the deeper he falls.

 

Virgil slips one hand into a pocket, and his eyes open as he remembers what happened earlier, rolling around the pills between his fingers. He knows that the others claim they "care" about him, but despite all the ways they've shown it, he can't help but believe the little voice in his head.

 

 _You're useless, Virgil, they only pretend to care about you because they_ pity _you, you know this_.

 

He finds himself muttering in agreement with the voice, recalling how they'd been more protective the first time they'd seen his scars, and almost unconsciously, he pulls up one sleeve to run his fingers over them.

 

Virgil's arms have been crisscrossed with lines for as long as he can remember, older white ones almost invisible against his pale skin, newer reddish lines crossing over those. No matter what happens, no matter who sees them, he can't seem to stop. No other "coping mechanism" has ever worked as well for him as cutting has, and, well, why should you try a new method when the old one's always worked?

 

Virgil weighs the pros and cons in his head as he weighs the pills in his hands, mildly surprised at how little they weigh. How could four little objects do the job as well as a knife or a bullet or a noose could?

 

He'd certainly considered it before, holding his knife between his fingers on more than one occasion, but in the end he'd always chickened out, or made some lame excuse about why he should stick around, but really, what could he offer to the world? Sure, he enjoys art, and takes pride in his photos, but what is art worth in the end? Almost as little as Virgil is worth, he'd bet.

 

His phone vibrates. He'd gotten a text from Patton, and does his best to ignore it. They'd always been so positive, even to the point that it seemed ridiculous, and Virgil knows if he reads the text now, he'll probably just put it off for another day, but what good would that do him?

 

Virgil had never had a terribly happy life. His parents had always fought, and they'd divorced just days after his fifteenth birthday, which was partially a relief because it meant he'd get some peace and quiet, but he'd been in his freshman year, and that had been hard enough without his mother moving out. She hadn't even _tried_ to get custody of him, she'd just taken their pet cat and left, leaving Virgil with his father.

 

His dad had been fairly supportive of Virgil when he'd come out as trans, or at least he'd tried to be, but he wasn't terribly "up to date," and Virgil had to do a lot of explaining before he understood that being trans meant you'd been born in the wrong body. Nobody else had taken it nearly as well, however. The bullies at school had gotten word, and he'd been targeted then for more than just being "the emo kid." They threw around far nastier words.

 

During sophomore year, he'd found Logan, and through him Patton, and through Patton he'd found Thomas and Roman. Then Virgil had made the move to be the only one to invite Damien to hang out with them, as the poor guy had been sitting alone all year and possibly even longer. He'd been surprised to find such an accepting bunch, but maybe it wasn't so surprising that his little group was just humoring, just _pitying_ Virgil, because who didn't pity Virgil? He'd never been much of a functional human being, as hard as he tried, as his anxiety would kick in at full swing, and his depression would back up the feelings of hopelessness and uselessness his anxiety gave him.

 

It hits him with the force of a train: he'd never get better, would he? As long as he can remember, his anxiety and depression had gotten the better of him, time and time again. When he'd wanted to answer a question in class, anxiety had forced his hand down and depression had told him that he'd probably been wrong anyway. When he'd wanted to enter that photography competition, anxiety had stopped him from volunteering and depression had reminded him that his pictures weren't all that good nor worthy of a prize.

 

Now, being close with somebody like Roman and somebody like Patton had raised his morale, but their confident demeanors are only contagious when you're around them, and when Virgil is on his own is when the voices are strongest. His friends can't help when they don't know he's struggling.

 

 _There's no point, really; even if things_ do _get better, I'll just relapse. Honestly, it's better this way. I'm done trying..._

 

Virgil opens his messages, ignoring the one from Patton and opening his messages with Roman. A tiny smile graces his lips as he rereads the last few things they'd texted, and slowly begins to type a message as the smile falls from his face.

 

_EmoDaydream: Hey. I just want you to know this isn't your fault, and I hope you guys can be happy._

 

He sends the message, and in under a minute his phone vibrates again.

 

_Princey: Virgil, what does that mean?_

_Princey: Are you alright?_

_Princey: Virgil_

 

His screen lights up, and the caller ID reads "Princey." He lets it ring, and it sits silently before Roman tries a second time to get through.

 

Virgil shuts down his phone.

 

Virgil had taken so many pills over the years that he was able to dry swallow pills now. He isn't sure that's something to be proud of, exactly, but here he is, and often he's just too tired to go get water.

 

Virgil tosses a pill into the air and catches it with one hand before, with some hesitation, putting all four on his tongue.

 

He whispers, "Fuck you, world, I'll leave on my own terms…"

 

And then swallows.


	2. Grief is the price we pay for love (Angst Ending)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death, suicide, mentions of self-harm (cutting), vomit
> 
> Y'all I know I promised a happy ending to some of you, and that'll be next. I thought it'd be interesting to write multiple endings, so here's the angst one. I ended up writing 2K words somehow? and I'm pretty proud of this. Everything I write is better than the last one, apparently.
> 
> Also, I can't promise the hurt/comfort ending will be quite as good as this one

Roman has never felt something nearly as horrible as the hollow sensation he's experiencing now.

 

_EmoDaydream: Hey. I just want you to know this isn't your fault, and I hope you guys can be happy._

 

As he reads Virgil's text, he feels his stomach drop, and the awful feeling of dread fills his body slowly. His fingers shake as he types out a reply.

 

_Princey: Virgil, what does that mean?_

_Princey: Are you alright?_

_Princey: Virgil_

 

Virgil won't answer, and normally that wouldn't be a cause for stress, but Virgil's previous text really worries Roman. He hits the "call" button as a last resort, hoping that Virgil will pick up.

 

The call goes unanswered, and Roman's concern only increases. He tries a second time, hissing, "Comeoncomeoncomeon." The call again goes to voicemail, and Roman now knows for certain that something's wrong.

  
  


Patton looks up as Roman runs into the room, his face pale, and their smile drops as they take in Roman's disheveled state.

 

"Roman?" Patton inquires. "What's—?

 

"It's Virgil," Roman cuts in sharply, still panting, and Patton realizes immediately that something is wrong, _very_ wrong.

 

"Did something happen?" frowns Patton, and Roman fumbles with his phone before giving up.

 

"He sent me a concerning text saying that _something_ wasn't my fault and he wants us to be happy." Roman bites his lip.

 

"Yeah, that _is_ strange, we should go check on him," Patton decides. Patton doesn't want to assume the worst, but they've seen Virgil at his worst, and it isn't pretty. Besides, that text _does_ sound bad, and although Patton likes to stay optimistic, they know that this may not be one of those times where everything will work out just fine.

 

Just then, Logan strides into the room, looking his usual stern self.

 

"What seems to be the problem?" He addresses Roman. "You ran here in such a hurry."

 

Seeing that Roman doesn't seem nearly composed enough, Patton answers for him. "It's Virgil, we think he may have… done something…" Patton can't find the words to say what they mean; or rather, maybe it's more that they _won't_ say what they mean, because they care so deeply for each of their friends, especially Virgil, and it would just _break_ them to utter the words. Even so, Logan seems to understand, from the way his face darkens as Patton struggles to express themself, the shadows lengthening as they fall across more of his face. He pulls out his phone and types a quick message before looking up.

 

"Damien will meet us there," he informs them, and somehow, in the absence of Roman's usual confident self, it seems as though the leader defaults to Logan. "Let's go, I'll drive."

  
  


Logan had always been the most reasonable one out of their group—there’s no contest there—the least likely to do anything risky. At least, that's what Roman had thought, but now, he isn't so sure about anything anymore.

 

It turns out that Logan can drive like a street racer, like the devil himself is on his tail, when someone's life is at stake. Roman tries to hold in his screams as the car turns corners at almost breakneck speeds, having the fleeting thoughts of _Oh my god, I'm going to die in a car crash_ and _We're going so fast; this can't be legal._

 

The car screeches to a halt in front of the apartment building where Virgil lives. As Roman, still standing next to the car once he'd stopped feeling like barfing, frantically tries to rack his brain for Virgil's apartment number, Patton begins to run for the doors. After a quick glance at Logan, who gives a slight tilt of his head as if to say _What are you waiting for_ , they both begin to follow their friend.

 

Roman shouldn't be surprised that Patton has Virgil's apartment number memorized, but then, they _do_ know all of their friends' addresses by heart, and they had been giving Logan directions on the car ride over.

 

Once they round the corner at the top of the stairs onto Virgil's floor, Roman sees a lone figure waiting outside the door to what he assumes is Virgil's place. Playing with the edges of his gloves, face downcast, Damien seems to have arrived ahead of them.

 

When he spots them approaching, Damien calls to them, tripping over his words: "I've knocked several times, but he isn't answering, and I can't open the door." It occurs to Roman that he'd never been given a key as Patton pulls a key from their pocket, proceeding to quickly jam it into the keyhole a few times before managing to unlock the door.

 

The anticipation has Roman frozen, and he can’t make himself enter the apartment or even look inside. Logan, stepping closer, places a hand on the small of his back.

 

“Roman,” says Logan quietly. “You know that whatever we see when we go through that door is not your fault, in any way. If you start blaming yourself, I’ll tell Patton.”

 

Roman’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “You wouldn’t,” he whispers.

 

“I would.” He gives Roman’s a quick pat on the back before stepping away.

 

Roman sighs, mustering up the courage he usually has so much of that seems to have fled in a blind panic at the mere thought of Virgil being hurt. Patton and Damien stood a little away, waiting for Roman to take the first step and open the door. He’d always been the brave one, the confident one, the one who people looked to when something needed doing and they were too scared to do it themselves, but at this moment, he really doesn’t feel like that guy, he doesn’t feel like the same Roman. He bites his lip apprehensively as he turns the door handle.

 

Virgil’s apartment looks exactly like he remembers, everything in slight disarray in a sort of organized chaos. (In fact, Roman would almost say _Virgil_ is a kind of organized chaos, so in all honesty, this is fitting.) A half-empty coffee mug lies abandoned on the small table next to the couch, which is well-worn, as one can tell from the faint outlines of several differently-colored stains. The calendar on the wall still reads “May,” and Roman smiles vaguely—it’s mid-June—and notes and reminders are scribbled in the margins in Virgil’s familiar scrawl.

 

Cautiously, Roman takes a step into the room to have a better look around. On second thought, perhaps Virgil’s apartment is more disorganized than usual—dirty dishes piled precariously in the kitchen sink, clothes lying in a pile on the bathroom floor. A new thought springs unbidden and unwanted into Roman’s head: _It’s almost like Virgil’s been planning this for quite some time, and allowed his apartment to fall into such disarray because, well—if you’re going to commit suicide, would you really care if your dishes are clean?_ He shakes his head, trying to rid his mind of such macabre thoughts, but they only rattle around, causing his feelings of trepidation to worsen.

 

Logan is rifling through a truly disorderly stack of various papers and journals, while Damien is opening cupboards and drawers at random.

 

A single door in the apartment is closed, and Patton stands nervously next to it, hand hovering near the doorknob, drifting away and then back towards it as if internally debating over whether or not to open the door. Roman mentally goes through the rooms that would be in an apartment and the ones they’d already looked through: _bathroom—check. Kitchen—check. Closet—check._ The last remaining room has to be Virgil’s bedroom, and if he’s home, that’s most likely where they’ll find him.

 

Roman approaches Patton carefully, as he nearly trips over the corner of Virgil’s coffee table. He clears his throat before beginning to speak since Patton looks so lost in their own head, and he doesn’t want to startle them—after all, he knows _he’s_ on edge, and someone sneaking up behind him with no warning would probably cause him to jump, so it’s reasonable to expect Patton might react the same way.

 

“Patton?”

 

They look up, brilliant azure eyes shining with tears, and pull their hand away from the doorknob as if suddenly realizing they’d been standing there for several minutes. “Roman, I’m scared. What if we can’t help him? What if he’s in there and he’s… what if he’s…?” Patton’s voice quivers and their hands begin to shake.

 

Roman feels the strong urge to wrap his arms around Patton’s shoulders, and he sees no reason why not to. Patton sniffles, burying their face in his T-shirt. “I can’t promise he’ll be fine, but we need to press onward, no matter what. The sooner we get to him, the… less far gone he’ll be.” _Hopefully._ Patton nods, reassured by Roman’s statement, and they pull away, wiping at their eyes with the sleeve of their sweater, stepping out of the way. Roman calls to Logan and Damien, and once the four are all standing in front of the door, Roman goes in.

 

His heart stops.

 

There’s a body lying limp on the bed, and Roman _knows_ that purple-patched jacket; there’s only one of that jacket in the whole world since Virgil had sewn those patches on himself. What he can see of Virgil’s skin looks vaguely blue, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the (familiar) scars crisscrossing his arms, and Roman has the overpowering urge to vomit. He turns away.

 

Logan, observing Roman’s momentary lapse, hurries over to the body. He goes to check the pulse, but pulls away fast, the expression on his face unfamiliar, his eyes unreadable. “His skin is cold.” Logan tries again, pressing two fingertips against the skin on Virgil’s wrist, first one, then the other, and then frantically feels the space on Virgil’s neck below his jaw. Roman’s never seen Logan like this before, his eyes darting from side to side.

 

The look on his face tells Roman the answer even before Logan speaks. “I’m sorry.” He stutters slightly, a rare occurrence, eyes diverted to the floor. Patton’s hands jump up to cover their mouth, tears starting to slip onto their face, and Damien has his eyes closed, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

 

Meanwhile, all Roman can feel is a strange, tranquil sort of numbness. Virgil _can’t_ be gone, not now. Roman had known about Virgil’s depression since high school, had seen the struggle his friend was having firsthand, but as low as Virgil had fallen, there had been no indication this time that Virgil had been anything less than happy. Roman thinks that maybe he should have been more observant, paying closer attention to his friend’s wellbeing—he’s an actor, he should have been able to tell if Virgil was lying about being fine—but he’d been too distracted, too self-absorbed. Maybe there was something he could’ve done… The numb emptiness quickly turns to shame and self-blame, and although Logan had threatened to tell Patton if he blamed himself… well, Logan doesn’t have to know.

 

He glances again at the limp figure on the bed, and again feels the bile begin to crawl up the back of his throat, but this time he can’t hold it in and has to rush to the bathroom. Now that Roman’s alone, the tears start to pour in floods, droplets mixing with the vomit spattered in and around the toilet. He runs his fingers through his hair, vision beginning to blur.

 

Logan typically prides himself as being in control of his emotions, but now the very concept escapes him. There’s a large lump in his throat, but the tears he expects never start flowing and he wonders what’s wrong with him. He’d never say it aloud, but he’d gone so far as to mentally call Virgil one of his “best friends””. He'd previously considered the term cliche and simplistic, but he'd begun to realize that it was the only way to describe the relationship he held with the others. And if one loses someone they’re close to, aren’t they _supposed_ to cry? _Is_ something wrong with Logan?

 

Damien has his eyes squeezed shut, trying to just stop, stop _feeling,_ because surely it would be less painful than this. The only reason why he doesn’t currently lead a solitary life, like that kind of person who orders everything online, having groceries delivered, never leaving his house because it’s safest to stay alone, is because of Virgil, because Virgil had recognized Damien as somebody like him, had invited him to hang out with Virgil and his friends. In fact, Damien considers that, had Virgil not stepped in, _he_ might’ve been the one who ended up lying prone on his bed, pulse gone, breathing nonexistent, and it’s almost too much.

 

Patton sinks to their knees, finally losing that last bit of strength that had kept them on their feet, and they stare at their trembling hands through increasingly blurry vision as the tears continue to fall heavier and heavier. They miss Virgil so much already, he’d become their family as many of those they considered “family” had—indeed, Patton’s only blood relative is Thomas, their twin brother. Then there’s Talyn and Joan, their foster siblings, and then Damien, Roman, Logan, and Virgil. They recall how they’d felt when their own depression had been worst, and Patton can’t stand that somebody like Virgil had to go through that; their own depression is mostly gone now, but they suppose Virgil’s had continued to persist as strongly as it had in high school. Virgil was an amazing person, as Patton had frequently reminded him (more so after finding out about the state of his mental health), but he’d always brushed off the compliments he received. Virgil, alongside Roman, had been one of the most creative people Patton had the pleasure of knowing. While Roman had expressed his artistry through acting and musical theater, Virgil had always been quieter, preferring to channel his talents into drawing and photography, both of which he’d been great at, yet Virgil had always refused to believe in himself or believe that anything he’d done would ever measure up to much. Patton had hated seeing him tear himself apart, but now they’re at a complete loss. What to do now? Where does one _go_ from here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry


	3. I promise that we do care, and we want to help in any way we can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, gosh, guys, I'm so sorry for the wait. It took way longer than anticipated, and I blame Tumblr (since I'm on there so often these days) and finals (since that's all this week of school). Thursday's my last day of school for the summer, though, so hopefully more fics to come soon, but no promises.
> 
> Hopefully this lives up to expectations? I don't usually write platonic fluff, so this was interesting.

The pills aren't quite as potent as Virgil had heard. They go down without too much trouble, but several minutes pass before they begin to take effect.

 

His phone vibrates, and he checks the caller ID:  _ Princey _ . He lets it go to voicemail, then turns off his phone.  _ Sorry, Roman. _

 

In the meantime, Virgil takes care to write letters to all his friends, but only in his head, as he'd rather be on the bed than collapsed in a chair or on the floor somewhere when the fatigue starts to kick in.

 

_ Patton, _

_ Thank you for everything you did for me. You did a lot, actually. You're one of the most accepting and honest people I know, and you went out of your way to remind me that you cared. I appreciate that. Sorry for being a waste of your time. _

 

_ Roman, _

_ You boosted my confidence. No, seriously, I tried things I never would've if you hadn't helped me. And despite all the times we argued, you know I never really mean any of it. I really cared about you guys, you know? _

 

_ Damien, _

_ When I saw you sitting alone that time, I knew right away that you were just like me, and I knew I had to help. I got to witness first-hand that growth you've made since the first time you sat at our table in high school. I heard from Patton and Roman that you've opened up more around them, and you even like to discuss astronomy with Logan. I'm glad I could make a difference for someone. _

 

_ Logan, _

_ I know you're not really one to express your feelings aloud, or even on your face much, but I get the feeling you enjoyed those mornings we spent drinking coffee and reading in silence. Sometimes just spending time with someone, whether or not you really interact, is all you need. _

 

Virgil's eyelids grow heavy, and he can no longer hold his head up. His mind is foggy, and he becomes unaware of the passage of time.

 

He can't see, but he swears he can hear the voices of his friends.

 

"Oh God, Virgil!" comes the sound of Roman's panic, then, "He has a pulse," from Logan as something presses against his neck. A sigh of relief comes from what must be Patton, and a soft hiss of an exhale from Damien.

 

"We've got to get him help," Roman says decisively. "You called an ambulance earlier, right?"

 

"I did, one is on the way," informs Logan.

 

Virgil drifts in and out of unconsciousness several more times, the sound of sirens soon turning into a consistent, regular beeping sound. Really, what  _ is _ that noise?  _ Won't it stop? _

 

Opening his eyes, Virgil finds himself in a clean, white room. He's lying on a bed, but it isn't his; the mattress is firmer. He's hooked up to a heart monitor; so  _ that's _ what the beeping is.  _ So he'd failed, yet again—he can't even kill himself right. _ He hears sounds of movement coming from one side of the bed, and he turns to look.

 

A familiar golden-brown-haired man sits in an armchair he must’ve dragged next to the bed. Virgil looks down to where his hand is being held, and when he looks back up, Damien's noticed that he's awake, a small smile breaking across his previously downtrodden expression.

 

Behind Damien, Roman stands with a hand on his shoulder, and behind that, Logan has an arm around Patton, who’d been crying from worry but is now seemingly crying in relief.

 

"Virgil." Damien's voice quivers ever-so-slightly on the first syllable, and his grip on Virgil's hand tightens. Reassuringly, Virgil squeezes back.

 

With little warning, Roman's arms are wrapped around Virgil's frail form, and Virgil is stunned to feel a warm liquid—tears?—fall onto him. He reciprocates the hug, awkwardly patting the taller man on the back, and Roman pulls away, sniffling as he rubs at his nose and eyes, a shaky smile on his lips.

 

Patton pushes themself out of Logan's embrace, and he lets them go. They walk slowly over to the bedside to stand next to Roman, and Virgil sighs before holding out his arms to Patton. The enby almost leaps into the hug, but taking care to be gentle.

 

"Aw, Pat, don't start crying again," Virgil says, discovering that his voice is husky. Patton only buries their face further into his chest, and he finds himself smiling as he cards his fingers through their hair.

 

"I'm so glad you're okay." Their voice is muffled by his clothing. "You really worried us, you know?" They pause for a moment. "What the  _ fuck _ were you thinking?"

 

Virgil startles. Patton very rarely swore, which only serves to illustrate just  _ how _ worried they'd been, and he starts to feel guilty.

 

"I'm sorry, Pat."

 

"Never do that again, okay, Virge?  _ Never _ scare us like that again."

 

"I promise."

 

Virgil looks around again at the faces of the others. Roman has a soft grin, and Damien's eyes are warm. Even the corners of Logan's mouth are curled as he observes the hug.

 

Logan speaks up. "I am aware that depression cannot be so easily 'fixed,' so to speak, but know that we are here for you."

 

"Yes," cuts in Roman. "If you're having a hard time or something, let us know. We'll do everything we can to make it better for you, even though that may not be all that much."

 

"We'd like to help," offers Damien. "We probably don't have the faintest clue how you're feeling most of the time, but we want to try."

 

Patton pulls back slightly to look Virgil in the face as they speak next. "You know, I have depression too. I'm not saying that to take away from your experiences, not at all, but… it's more like, I've been through dark times like that, but those dark feelings don't have to win. Just use those moments when you can't bear the pain anymore to motivate yourself to try to get better, and when you can be happy again, you'll only be that much happier in comparison."

 

Virgil lets out a strangled noise halfway between a self-deprecating chuckle and a sob. He's really lucky, even if he can't see it sometimes, to have such great friends who'd do anything to help him. He feels like he doesn't deserve them, but reminds himself that's just the voice in his head, the one that tells him he's worthless, and it rarely tells the truth.

 

"Thank you guys so much." He ignores the shaking of his voice and plows forward. "You really don't know all you've done for me. And… sorry for trying to take such drastic measures. I won't do it again. I couldn't do that to you, not after today, seeing how worried you all were and how happy you are that I'm okay. I'm just lucky to have people who care, huh?"

 

"And we do, we do care." Patton's voice was soft, but Virgil could still make out every word.

 

"I don't doubt it."

**Author's Note:**

> If you reeeeaaally want a happy ending... Well, you're gonna really have to b e g in the comments (jk lol)
> 
> Let me know how I did, I love to read about how much pain I'm putting people in
> 
> Edit 1: As of now, there's going to be two more "chapters" to this fic, two separate endings, the next one will be a sad ending and the third one will be a happy ending so you can have both heavy angst and hurt/comfort
> 
> Edit 2: oh gosh guys I'm so sorry, I don't usually write in present tense, and I realized I missed a few places where I swapped back into past tense. I've fixed those, but please let me know if there's something else because I'm not used to present tense •v•


End file.
